A Red Notebook
by TheLastofUs
Summary: Alfred F. Jones found a notebook left under someone's desk before winter break, and decided to be a snoop and take it home. Expecting some sappy love diary entries, he finds suicide notes and poems, along with a date the action will take place. Time is ticking, but Alfred can definitely save him on time- ...Wait who does this belong to in the first place?
1. I Found a Notebook

_Speaker is Alfred F. Jones AKA America in case of confusion._

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_A Red Notebook_

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_**December 21**__**st**_

It was just a cheap little notebook.

You know, those things you get for 80 cents at Wal-Mart? Thin pages, flimsy cardboard cover and cheap red paint and that silver spiral bounding that always gets bent up?

It was lying in the middle of the floor, lights surrounding it like it was sent from heaven and it was extremely important. An angel came down and told me to take it, and I couldn't exactly say no to an—Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic… It _was_ on the floor, but not in the _middle_. No angel either, but how cool would that be? I think it was under someone's desk if I remember right. And I normally would have left it there if I was any less of a hero, but we'll get to that later.

But in all honestly, I almost did leave it there. The rightful owner would find it under their desk in a couple weeks right? Yet something possessed me to pick it up. It felt kind of light and the pages were rumpled, some were damp. Various were torn out and the fringe of the tears was caught in the cheap metal spirals.

It was the day before winter break, so I reasoned they wouldn't miss it for two weeks.

Poetry.

I was surprised that's what was inside of it. It seemed to be some type of girly diary. Being the jerk I am, I snooped inside, reading the pages—but none of it made _any_ sense! It was written like a freaking essay or even a published book with perfect punctuation, completed with confusing phrases and big words.

_**December 27**__**th**_

Well, as fun as Christmas was, I'm now officially bored. Out of my mind. I can't play any of my new games because my dad's hogging the TV. I get it tomorrow—but a whole _day_ without my video games?! That's just cruel.

My eyes fell on the notebook I found. Eh, what the heck?

I decided to read a little out of pure curiosity, expecting some lovey-dovey or heart-to-heart diary entries like "OMG JOHNNY IS SO HOT I TOTALLY HAVE A CRUSH ON HIM!" or "I wish Haley would notice me, *sigh* what can I do? I need to impress her somehow."

It was actually pretty depressing though. Like I didn't even know what the kid was _talking_ about and I knew that. It just… It's hard to explain. Well, let me put it like this: Have you ever read something and you get into the mood the author wants you to? Like you feel completely depressed like you _are_ that character about to kill themselves or you start laughing your head off because that book was just so funny? Unfortunately, this mood was the prior.

_Water of crimson and smeared tears_

_I fall to sleep in dreamless nightmares_

_Fatigue is all too familiar now_

_For I go unseen_

_In the dusks_

_The shadows_

_Or even in the crippling sunlight._

Really what was this supposed to mean? I've always hated poetry units in English class. Wrong hero to pick, writer-dude!

"Oh come on brain… work…" I mumbled to myself and tried to pick apart the poem.

Okay let's see.

_Water of crimson and smeared tears_

So crimson means red right? Red water… So blood? And crying?

_I fall to sleep in dreamless nightmares_

That's… That's that one thing we learned in English class… Oxygen? Oxyidiot? Oh now I remember, it's Oxymoron. Haha that always made me laugh…

Dreamless nightmares.

So… He can't sleep at night for the "dreamless" part, but he's having nightmares? Does he mean maybe his life is a nightmare which is why he isn't dreaming it? This kid is so confusing. Here I am wanting to help and he makes me bend over backwards!

_Fatigue is all too familiar now_

That part's pretty simple. He's tired of something. Getting sick of it, and he's tired of being tired of it. (Does that make sense?)

_For I go unseen_

So this kid thinks he's invisible. Or at least not noticed, like hardly at all. But the "for" part… Means "because" (why didn't he just say "because instead? Stupid poets…) So he's bleeding somehow, crying, and he's living a nightmare because he's not noticed.

_In the dusks_

_The shadows_

_Or even in the crippling sunlight_

So he's invisible from the dusks and shadows. Since the terms are pretty dark, it probably means he's hiding or trying to hide something. (See? I can be smart!) And the "crippling sunlight" part… People aren't really hurt by the sun, so it has to be a metaphor. Since he was talking about shadows before, then switches to light, and I already concluded that he's hiding something, so even when he tries to open up to someone, it doesn't work? He can't or something?

Well _that_ was depressing.

But from what I've concluded: This kid is depressed or just emo or some crap like that and he's bleeding (either cutting himself or this is another metaphor) and crying because once again, he's depressed. He hides it from others and if he tries to show others how he's feeling, he ends up getting hurt (or crippled as the poetic kid put it.)

Is this all the kid has in here? Dumb emo poems?

I flipped through the notebook and surprisingly, only five pages were written on.

_**December 29**__**th**_

Well I only got to play my game for seven hours before my mom made me go do something… _Educational_… or… _Healthy_…

What does she take me for?

I'm sure you can see where this is going.

Yup, I decided to go with the depressing diary again. Page two. Yippeeeee…

_Even kin are oblivious and nonchalant_

_About my life and the moment of light_

_I saw no colors but grey and black_

_Bows were unraveled by others than me_

_They've forgotten again_

_And the next will be no different._

Now this one seemed to be a little easier than the last one (although I did have to look up kin in the dictionary… Honestly who uses "kin" anymore?) So basically: his _family _forgot something in his life. And this "moment of light"…

I'll go back to it.

He's colorblind? He just use the word "crimson" in the last—Oh… another metaphor…

Well, color… it's vibrant and mostly lively, and sometimes it could lighten your mood. If he says only grey and black, that means he's depressed? (Again, you emo chick?)

Bows? What's bows got to do with anything? Well anyways, everyone else "unraveled bows" except for him. Again with that forgetting…

Next? Next what?

Okay, let's see… "Moment of light" "bows" and "next." They're all connected somehow…

"Light" was associated with "life," so that means…

Oh! I know! Being born! Bows are on a birthday present, and "next" meaning her next birthday!

…But that means her family forgot her birthday? That's kind of sad…

Speaking of which, I have no idea if this belongs to a girl or a dude so I'll just say "Shme" as a pronoun. Does that work out cool for you?

_**December 31**__**st**_

Okay. No judging. Let's have a little chat.

I might.

MIGHT

Have gotten a little interested in that dumb emo-book…

What did I say about judging me?! Sheesh…

Anyways, I decided to read more. Page three was revealed eagerly.

The next page was a simple diary entre. No bumps and loops, it went straight to the point.

_Gilbert pushed me down the stair as his own way of saying "we aren't friends anymore." He just asked me to meet him at the stairwell and he said he hated me and pushed me. I got a broken thumb now because I landed wrong. What kind of person does something like that? I know I'm disgusting and a waste of space, but honestly? Calling me out for the sole purpose of hurting me? He was my best friend. My only friend. What had I done wrong? Or would it be easier to ask what I did right? After he did that, I didn't have the heart to tell him he's the only reason I bothered living. _

Gilbert did something like that? Dang that's cruel.

But that narrows down the list of who this thing belongs to. I know pretty much all of Gil's friends. This person would most likely be a bookworm with all this sappy poetry shme's writing.

And… That's _got_ to be an exaggeration. I'm sure they have something to live for. Their amazing grades (most likely) or maybe… It's hard to talk this Shme up when I don't know who they are.

I turned the page with curiosity crawling out of my eyes. The next page was also a diary entry. Flipping forward, I checked to see and it turned out the last one after this was another poem.

Turning my attention back to the page, I started to read.

_I started to cut. I had always heard about it and how emo people do it to make the pain go away or something like that, and at this point I was really desperate. I used my mom's scissors that she kept in the art room. It sort of pinched, but it felt nice. To finally feel something other than my heart being shredded. I traded my internal pain for something physical, and I'm glad I did. But I spilled a little, I only hope no one questions the red stains on my carpet…_

I stared aghast at the page for a minute. He… That's so terrible… To actually like the physical pain more than what you were feeling before? That's just…

The page was nearly torn at how fast it was turned.

_Minutes turn to hours to years._

_The evidence is here, yet they turn a_

_Blind eye._

_I grow tired_

_Too tired for my liking._

_The reasons abolished and_

_Alliterated._

_Inevitable_

_Is my fate._

_Inevitable_

_Drawing nearer._

_Close the blinds_

_On the day the sun rises._

_The start and yet the end._

…This one is pretty weird.

I can definitely tell it isn't good. Not at all. Talking about an end? He's going to kill himself? Is he too tired of what..? I…

I don't understand at all.

He can't… How could someone kill themselves over something like this? Just some emo freak—just get over it! Don't kill yourself…

Drawing nearer? You mean you've planned for this? You know when it's happening? Well when the heck is it? On the day the sun rises? The start and yet the end? What the heck is that supposed to mean? How can something be starting and ending at the same time?

The end part is obvious: your life. What's starting though? It has to be obvious… What…What is it?

My thoughts were chopped into pieces when I heard shots outside—right now?!

…Oh wait…

Gosh I'm getting too paranoid. It's New Year's Eve, of course there are fireworks. But isn't it a little early to be putting off fireworks? It isn't until midnight, and it's four PM right now. Way to start the…

Year.

He's going to kill himself on New Year's?

I ran to the clock hanging on the wall. 4:21 PM. I still have time.

Sprinting to the door, I could only put my palm on the knob before I froze.

Who did this even belong to?

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**_Hehe... Thanks for reading! I think I'll make this two chapters long. Not sure when I'll update, but I hope it'll be soon :3 It's my first time writing in this style (Half first person, half second) so don't hate me if it's bad ;-; Kinda experimental. If you guys hate it, I'll never write like this again LOL I tend to stick to third person. Reviews?_**


	2. Of Course

_He's going to kill himself on New Year's?_

_I ran to the clock hanging on the wall. 4:21 PM. I still have time._

_Sprinting to the door, I could only put my palm on the knob before I froze._

_Who did this even belong to?_

_**6:00**_

I really don't know how to describe how it felt. Kind of like my heart stopped? But no, I didn't _die_, so my heart didn't stop. Like… someone just squeezed it? No, that's just plain creepy and _weird_! I'm no good at analogies. Leave that stuff to the kid who owns that journal.

And so I opened the red notebook back up, and started to jot down anything that might tell me who he was.

Gilbert's friend

Forgotten a lot

Has an art room

… And that's it. That's all I know about him.

Obviously, first I thought to call Gilbert and ask him who he pushed down the stairs, but he didn't pick up! Honestly, the _nerve_ of that guy. I'm trying to be a hero here, the least you can do is be my sidekick!

Ugh, just forget Gilbert. Clue number two: he's forgotten a lot.

…Well how am I supposed to remember something I forget?! Clue number two proved pointless, too.

He has an art room, meaning he's artistic. And… Where exactly do I go with that? Being a hero is so hard!  
So _all_ of my clues are crap. And it's already seven!

_**7:00**_

So you know how Gilbert didn't pick up? Yeah, well I called Francis, who was drunk and _already_ partying the "night" away.

"Heyyy, Alfredd~" he sang into the phone.

"Francis, I need to find Gilbert, or at least ask for some gossip. Have any ideas where he is?" I think I spoke kind of fast.

"Wooaahhh so many words~ You should be a.. a… te—*_hiccup_* —acher!"

"Francis," I said slowly with fake patience, "where is Gilbert?"

"Gilly? He's right here! He's with me!" he laughed drunkenly.

There were clattering noises on the other line and various voices were heard, chattering and others were even singing—I didn't even want to _know_ what was going on at that party. Eventually, a new voice resounded through the receiver. It was Gilbert's.

"Al? Why aren't you at the party? Didn't get the invite? Well it's too late and I don't even want to try to get you in! It was hard enough to get—"

"Gilbert, shut up a sec. I need to know who you pushed down the stairs at school before the break."

It was quiet on the other line except for music booming and mindless small-talk and gossip in the background. Finally Gilbert answered.

"Okay, first, I didn't push Matt. I just… I don't know—I don't! It's just… One minute we were talking, I got kind of mad, and he just fell. I couldn't apologize before he ran away. I said some kind of mean stuff… But I figure we could just make up when I see him in Algebra when we get back to school."

Now, I don't know for sure since I can't see myself, but I'm pretty sure my face paled. Matt… as in Matthew? As in my _brother_ Matthew?

"Yeah, well you're not going to _get_ a chance to apologize because I found his girly diary and he said he's going to kill himself today! Or tomorrow! Or whenever the "first light" is! Whatever that means!" I started shouting and my words got jumbled together.

I didn't wait for him to respond before I hung up.

Okay, don't freak out. Don't freak out. There's tons of "Matt"s at our school… Who are friends with Gilbert… And… Oh screw it. I knew it was him, but I just didn't want to admit he was the one behind the journal. The one that wanted to _kill_ himself.

The time moved on, despite my very logical attempts to hold the second hand in place.

_**8:00**_

I ran to the art room of our house—why didn't it click before?— and nearly threw the supplies on the floor.

_Scissors _

_Scissors _

_Scissors _

_Scissors _

_Scissors _

Where are the freaking scissors?!

_No. You're still wrong. It isn't your brother. Mom just decided to take them to her office… for work or something like that…_

With a frustrated grunt, I turned heel and ran up to Matthew's room. I felt slightly guilty it's probably my tenth time in the room for my entire life.

Banging on the door, I yelled, "Mattie, can I come in?"

I received no answer.

"Mattie?"

I took the key from above the doorframe and fumbled with the lock to open the door. The door opened pretty easily, but that didn't stop the cold air from hitting me. The window was left open and the room was probably ten degrees colder than the rest of the house. The chilly winter air slapped me in the face.

He wasn't there. He wasn't _there_. But you know what was? A red stain on the carpet.

_**9:00**_

This was getting ridiculous, and I swore the clock was laughing at me.

Honestly, where could he have gone? And by now, I had begrudgingly accepted it was Matthew that wrote the poetry and little diary entries. I had always fought for my side of the argument, without admitting defeat, but now, I'd never wished more someone could come up to me with a better side of the story to tell me I was wrong. I probably wouldn't fight them.

Now, as crazy as this is, (or not crazy if you agree with amazing minds like me) I actually jumped out of the two story window, and it hurt. A lot. Like I landed wrong or something because my leg hurt like crap. (Yup. Crap. That's my best analogy.) I managed to stand up again, and I was a man, I didn't cry.

… Well FINE I did for a couple minutes, but I pulled myself together alright?!  
ANYWAYS

I had no idea where to go. (Remind me again why I didn't just use the front door? Oh yeah, because I have an amazing mind.)

Completely and utterly lost, I ended up wandering around for—where's a stupid clock?— before my phone started ringing. Why would Gil be calling me now?

The toll of the next hour had never been more anatagonizing.

_**10:00**_

"Get over here," Gilbert said before I even had time to say that stupid _"Hello, this is Alfred speaking. May I get the name and business of the caller?"_ Or even a little "_Yo 'sup?"_

"What's going on?" I asked .

"Someone said they saw you here but "you" ran away looking like you were going to cry before they could talk to you. It's gotta be Birdie."

"Where's the party?" I asked in a speedy voice. I'm good at talking quick aren't I? Don't answer that. Pay attention to the story I'm telling you!

"It's at Francis's house."

An unspoken "'Kay bye" was sputtered and our phones clicked off in unison as I ran down the street in the direction of Francis's house.

Dang I wish I had a car…

_**11:00**_

When I say the party was packed, the party was _packed_. I could hardly move! Did the entire world come over or something?

I called Gilbert again.

"I'm here, now what?" I raised my voice to be heard over the boisterous music. (Yes, I can use big words too. Boisterous is a fish right?)

"Help me find Birdie!" he all but screamed.

"I know, I know!" I yelled over the noise and another unspoken goodbye was said and we both hung up yet again.

Pushing apart the sea of partying kids, I scanned eyes of millions (or more like hundreds… But millions sounds more dramatic right?) but missing out on a pair of matching mine but in violet instead of blue.

Eager to get out of the crowds, I ran upstairs, and there were still tons of people. How big was Francis's house? I know his parents are some French models or something, but his house is like a freaking mansion. I bet Roderich's in some closet trying to find the music room if he even came.

Running up the stairs, the scent of alcohol lessened by the slightest with each floor. By the time I was on the sixth floor, I found the door locked. I guessed it led to the roof.

Taking out my trusty cellphone, I pressed in Francis's number.

"Hey," he said into the phone, but the alcohol seemed to be wearing off slightly.

"Francis, where's the key to the roof? Can I unlock it? I hate all this noise and need a little air."

"I didn't lock my roof though," he said. "The key should be taped under the hand rail."

My stomach became a gymnast, doing all kinds of funny flips and twists. Gold medal goes to… Alfred's—yeah this analogy is getting weird, too… I GIVE UP ON THEM!  
I banged my fist against the door just in case some couple making out up there would open the door looking embarrassed and leave to go home, but the door never opened. What kind of door is this? Wood? Yeah, heroes can kick doors in—

Dang that _hurt_!

Oh right… Key under the hand rail…

My hand dragged under the wooden rail and stopped when it hit something that wasn't the smooth cylinder.

Ripping off the key, I jammed it into the door's lock and jiggled it open.

And it was colder up on the roof, but the sky was definitely a sight worth seeing. Gazing up at the glistening stars, I could have died right there.

…Wrong choice of words.

"Hey, Al," came a gentle voice. "The stars are really pretty tonight aren't they?"

He seemed so…different. He didn't seem timid tonight. He didn't shy away from conversations or stutter when he spoke. He didn't try to shrink into the corner when others came near him. No, he seemed at peace with himself. Almost confident. He sat on the edge of the roof, facing me with his back to the city in the distance.

"Yeah," I replied almost warily.

I'd never seen such a smile.

"Why don't you come with me?" I asked eyeing his feet kicking slowly and his hands that seemed to have too loose of a hold on the edge. "Let's get some hotdogs to kick off the New Year!"

His soft blonde curls dangled as he shook his head slowly. "I just want to be here tonight."

I gave a nervous laugh. "But aren't you hungry? If you don't want hotdogs, there are hamburgers, too."

"I think I know," he ignored my offer. "I think I know why Gilbert always called me Birdie."

His face dropped from the moon and he looked into my eyes. When I say he looked different, I don't mean that lightly. I hardly recognized him. Why did he look so happy? Why did he look so calm? Wasn't he going to kill himself? Did I get this wrong?

"Maybe he wanted me to fly," he looked back to the north star.

And there were so many things wrong with his statement.

The shouts were even reaching the rooftop now.

_Five_! They yelled cheerfully.

_Four_! They screamed in delight.

_Three_! They shouted in excitement.

_Two_! Matthew mouthed along.

_One_! His grip loosened and he lifted his foot a little too high.

_**Midnight**_

_Happy New Year_!

And just like that, he was gone.

I ran forward and reached blindly over the side of the building, but this was no drama. Of course I couldn't grab his arm while he begged me to let him go. Of _course_ I couldn't pull him from his fingertips to his wrist to his elbow until he was safe again.

Of course… I had to watch until his figure shank to nothing.

Of course I heard a sickening _splat_ sound, though that was probably in my head.

And of course there were screams and sirens.

Of course I couldn't save him.

Of course, I tried, of course I wanted to, of course I did.

So do you blame me for hanging half way off the edge with tears pouring from my eyes? I almost wanted to jump after him, but what would that accomplish?

And even when Francis came to the roof, shaking my shoulder, yelling my name, I didn't respond. He pulled my shoulder back and I fell on my butt, hardly responding at all. My body shook uncontrollably from sobs. It's bad enough my twin brother just committed suicide, but to make me _watch_ him? To make it so easy to just grab him and yet I couldn't? Why didn't I just steal his wrist when I first saw him? Why was I such an idiot?

But that's who I am. I'm no hero, no matter how much I wanted to be. I'm just a useless idiot, crying into my arms so much I could have been swimming in the Atlantic Ocean.

Yeah sure, now I can make analogies.

They tried to ask me questions, they tried to get me to respond at all, but how can they understand? Don't they know more than one soul dies with suicide?

I didn't until just then.

_**End**_

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**_DON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TK ILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLME I'm sorry for killing Mattie but I had toooooooo But did you still kind of like it? Maybe? If you've read any of my other stories, do you like this style of writing or my usual better? I tried something new for this fanfiction sooooo I'm not sure if new is good XD Reviews?_**


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